


Let me fly, please

by LoneswaggingRanger



Category: Digimon - All Media Types, Digimon Adventure
Genre: Emotional Abuse, I will keep adding tags as I go, Mental Health Issues, Sexual Abuse, and Yamato is really trying his best here, this fic has some disturbing themes like
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2020-12-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:28:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27759898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoneswaggingRanger/pseuds/LoneswaggingRanger
Summary: “Three years, Taichi, and not even a single word from you,” Yamato seethed. “Three. Whole. Years.”“S-sorry.”“Yeah,” Yamato glared. “You better be.”Taichi seemed to huddle into himself then- though, that must have been more Yamato’s wild imagination than anything. Taichi never bowed from things. He faced them head on, all with fire glazing in his eyes and strength breathing through his form. Taichi was a strong guy, always had been.“Please let me go?”Yamato twitched. Since when did Taichi say please?-In which it takes three years after graduation for anyone to finally see Taichi again, and it'd make sense for that anyone to be Yamato, right?
Relationships: Ishida Yamato | Matt Ishida & Yagami Taichi | Tai Kamiya, Takenouchi Sora & Yagami Taichi | Tai Kamiya, Yagami Taichi/Toxic Original Charactar
Comments: 4
Kudos: 27





	1. See You Soon

**Author's Note:**

> A small preface: This fic will be handling certain mature themes such as emotional manipulation by a significant partner, and the impact that it may have on the victim. I initially wrote this with only the welfare of the characters in mind, but as I continued my 'plotting', I realised that I was delving into slightly dangerous themes, so if this fic triggers anyone in any way, I sincerely apologize beforehand. Also note that the steps Yamato will be using to help Taichi is based on web researches, but not professional medical advice. Moreover, my deepest apologies if the way Taichi's ordeal is depicted feels unreal, or misrepresented in any way, and I really do appreciate if you leave your thoughts on how I may improve on this. That being said, I promise that I will try to portray this in the most healthy and realistic way possible, to the best of my abilities.
> 
> Also, this fic will mostly follow the timeline of Digimon Adventure, but without the other subsequent re-makes or Digimon 02. I kind of felt that this would give me a little more breathing room to write our kids' futures. ;) But I still will make a couple of subtle references though!!! 
> 
> Anyways. Our boy Taichi is going to be put through some pain for a little while. As will Yamato. Thanks for stopping by, hope you enjoy!! :D

_I’ll become a happy butterfly, and ride on the glittering wind_

_I’ll come to see you soon._

_-_

In all sense of word, Ishida Yamato prided himself to be a pretty mellow sort of guy. Being the bass guitarist for one of the hottest bands in town hadn’t changed that, and being the beacon of friendship his crest suggested pretty much cultivated that trait. He was the basic definition of ‘keeping it cool’ - the one who remained unfazed in face of even the largest of crowds, the scariest of monsters. The one who kept calm in the direst of situations.

Keeping calm was probably the furthest thing from Yamato’s mind right now.

“ _You_.” 

“Y-yamato!” A feeble wave, and that familiar hand rubbing the back of his neck in the most _infuriatingly_ familiar way possible. “Um, long time no see?”

Undignified exasperation leaked out from Ishida Yamato in the form of a laser-sharp shriek. In one abrupt motion, he launched forward, pumped fists almost ripping the man’s sleeves entirely. He easily towered over the other, lips twisting downwards into an ugly snarl as he yanked the shirt collar so close till he was barely inches from the man's stupid, wide doe-eyed face.

(If he had just been a little more aware, a little more in control of his raging emotions, he might have caught the barest of flinches Taichi gave in response.)

“Where, the _fuck_ ,” Yamato hissed, all sense of ‘keeping it cool’ leaving his body. “-have you been.”

“uh- Uni? I’m studying politics now, by the way.”

“Is that so.” 

“Yeah," The piece of shit had the audacity to grin lightly, patting Yamato's arm with a laugh barely past his lips. "Mind letting me go now?” 

“Hm, I don’t know,” Yamato cocked his head to the side in mock contemplation. “Are you going to disappear again, into thin air- without giving your father, your mother _and_ your sister even one call? You going to ignore the entire platoon of people trying to contact you all over again?” He squeezed both arms harder, in contradiction of the languid lilt in his tone.

At least he had the good grace to wince sheepishly.

“Do you know how worried they all were? That they all still are?” Yamato shoved Taichi back against the wall. _Do you know how worried I was, that I spent almost every night of a full year trying to reach your phone, only to be sent to voicemail each time?_ “Takeru had to visit Hikari every single day since you left, because _she_ thought you left because of her _._ But whenever anyone asked, you know what she did?" He paused to take in Taichi's contrite face. Good. "She smiled, shook her head and said everything’s goddamn fine. Do you realise how fucked up that is?” _Do you realise how much you fucked us up?_

Hard brown eyes slithered its way to the floor, grin from earlier wiped completely.

“Three years, Taichi, and not even a single word from you,” Yamato seethed. “Three. Whole. Years.”

“S-sorry.”

“Yeah,” Yamato glared. “You better be.”

Taichi seemed to huddle into himself then- though, that must have been more Yamato’s wild imagination than anything. Taichi never bowed from things. He faced them head on, with brawl fire glazing in his eyes and rash strength breathing through his form. Taichi was a stupid-strong guy, always had been.

“Please let me go?”

Yamato twitched. Since when did Taichi ever say please?

He loosened his grip, but didn’t let go.

“Why are you here anyway?” Yamato let his thundering heartbeat peter off to a more bearable throb, finally releasing one arm with a sigh, though the other still kept firm in his hands.

“I, um, w-well,” Since when did Taichi stutter? “I just moved here. With my boyfriend.”

Yamato pulled back, a little incredulous. “You have a boyfriend?”

“What’s with that reaction?” Taichi laughed, though the quiet shudder in his voice didn’t go lost on anyone.

“Nothing,” Yamato narrowed his eyes. “Just thought you swore of dating after- what was her name? - Nomura Chiko?”

“Chouko,” Taichi corrected, half-lifting the one free shoulder he had. “And I was 15. I didn’t know better then.”

“Clearly, you still don’t.”

“Hey, come on, don’t be like that,” The same infectious glee Yamato had taught himself to grow immune to hit him with full force, and damn if he didn't want to return the grin Taichi was suddenly blinding him with. “Donovan’s a great guy! He’s smart, he’s 4 years my senior, he plays football and he likes ramen. Cool guy."

Yamato snorted. "You realise you just described yourself and then called that cool."

 _"_ Aw, shucks," Taichi's smirk started to widen. "You think I'm smart?"

Yamato was prepared to snap vehemently when all of a sudden, the grin wiped itself off Taichi's face as quickly as it came. His face turned significantly pale, deathly white washing over quivering lips as he tried to jerk his left shoulder out of Yamato’s tightened grip, futilely tugging in what could only be described as a panicked frenzy.

“Hey, hey,” Yamato pressed, not relenting. “What’s wrong?”

“Please,” The plea in his tone was more than palpable. “Please, let go, Yamato. He’s _right_ there, please let go, please, please -” Panic. Fear. That was definitely panic and fear bleeding through his tone.

Yamato released him in an instant.

“Taichi,” A voice made of impeccable smooth silk. “Who’s this?”

A man with blond hair gelled all the way back wrapped a chiseled arm around Taichi's suddenly small form, who had - surprisingly - regained the colour of his complexion _and_ the broad grin splitting his face into two. The tense set of his shoulders seemed to dissipate the moment Donovan pulled him close. Yamato scowled. Had the bastard taken up acting along with politics in his three year disappearance stint?

“Just an old friend,” Taichi’s buzzed with exaggerated cheer, sinking minutely into the newcomer's side. “Yamato, this is Donovan Tempest and Don, this is-”

“Ishida Yamato,” The man whistled, impressed. He extended a well-meaning hand, which Yamato belatedly took. “You’re part of that band, aren’t you? What was it called again?”

“Knife of Day,” Taichi supplied before Yamato could say anything.

Yamato raised an eyebrow.

“Honoured to meet you in person, Ishida,” Donovan inclined his head respectfully, straightening the tie round his own neck. “You’ve made quite a name for yourself here in Japan.”

“Thank you,” Yamato dipped his head. “Though, I hear you’re not a simple man yourself? A grand politician in the making.”

Donovan smirked wide, shooting Taichi a sharp side-eyed glance - who, curiously, had his head lowered and eyes averted to the floors. “Taichi told you that?”

Taichi perked up like a puppy but said nothing. Weird.

“He did,” Yamato pursed his lips. “I also heard that you’re his…”

“He’s my boyfriend, yes,” Donovan raked a hand through said boyfriends’ hair, smug smirk still stuck firmly in place. “This kid fell in love with me right at first sight.”

The sides of Yamato’s lips quirked up, smiling at Taichi. “Did you?”

“A football court, a heated debate and a cup of ramen was all it took to take this guy’s heart,” Donovan answered instead, jabbing a finger to the left of Taichi’s chest, snickering at the embarrassed yelp that elicited.

“I can see that.”

“Weak heart, my boy has,” Donovan chuckled. “Good thing I got to him first, eh?”

Yamato was just about to agree when he noticed. He noticed Taichi’s fingers clinging to the back of his thighs in a way that couldn’t possibly be comfortable, hands shaking almost imperceptibly behind his jeans. Almost, only because Yamato knew what to look for when he looked at his friend.

And yet, Taichi’s stupid grin still remained plastered to his face.

Yamato narrowed his eyes. “You’ve been together long?”

“Around three years.”

Another raised eyebrow. “Interesting.”

“How so?” Donovan’s eyes pierced blue, glinting slyly with both eyebrows arched Yamato's way. Every single line in his frame seemed to be built intricately with enviable precision - from his hair, to his face down to the very way he spoke and wore his suit - _he_ was the basic definition of keeping it cool, in that instant.

Yamato licked his lips. “Well,” He caught Taichi squirming out of the corner of his eyes - which was, weird. “We were friends a while back. Strange to see him be any way romantic.”

“Oh, trust me,” Donovan chortled, pressing Taichi even closer to his side. “He’s not. I have to do all the romantic work here, don’t I?” He nudged an elbow into Taichi’s ribs none too gently, drawling, “Don’t I, Taichi?”

“Y-yes,” Taichi practically _squeaked_ out.

Yamato might have gaped then. 

More pleasantries were exchanged even though Yamato really rather they weren't, but Donovan had other ideas and he was, apparently, a fan. So the conversation droned on, and with each ticking second, Taichi acted weirder and weirder. He hummed in agreement every time Donovan addressed him. He leaned into Donovan even though there was no mistaking the quiet shift from foot to foot. He practically stayed out of the entire conversation by planting his eyes on Yamato’s shoes which was, honestly, the weirdest fucking situation Yamato had ever had the misfortune to witness.

The Taichi he remembered talked pretty much non-stop, always filling pockets of silence with such boyish earnestness that simply made people _want_ to listen. The Taichi he remembered stood with his head held high, brimming confidence so that those around him could feel the same. The Taichi he remembered didn’t stutter, or look at floors, or huddle into himself.

The Taichi he remembered didn’t _flinch_ every time his boyfriend said his name.

(This time, he saw.)

Then again, the Taichi he remembered didn’t have a boyfriend either.

It wasn’t long until Yamato decided enough was enough.

“Have _you_ listened to any of my songs, Taichi?” He tilted his head, pointedly directing his attention away from Donovan in the middle of his politely crafted spiel about how much he and his friends simply _a_ _dored_ Knife of Day.

The full-body twitch Taichi gave, coupled with the horrifically stunned expression on his face both aggravated and worried Yamato in similar measures.

Donovan came to an abrupt stop. A lazy smile flickered past his face, his piercing blue gaze switching over to Taichi in an instant. “That’s right, how thoughtless of me. What do you think, Taichi?”

Taichi gulped at the saccharine sweet of Donovan’s tone, eyes darting from the floor to Donovan to Yamato and then back again. “I, uh- I listen to whatever Don listens to.”

Yamato felt his expression darken.

“But I like it too!” The grin, the darn infectious grin reprised, but right now all that chimed in Yamato’s mind was fake, fake, fake, _fake_. “I really do like it! Your song - uh - something called ‘Which’, right?” Yamato continued arching his eyebrows at Taichi’s rapidly reddening face. “It had lyrics. I, um, liked that.”

“Really.” Yamato folded his arms, voice toneless. “Which ones?”

“Things like answers or a light - they don’t matter,” Taichi peeked up from the folds of those gravity defying locks of his. “No matter if I look down or up, it’s the same one second?” The soft whisper pretty much dissolved any of the animosity Yamato might have bore against him. “Seriously, Yamato, that’s just so _you_.”

Yamato blinked. So he did listen.

And then Yamato’s ears were heating up and he was at a lost for what to say - because what do you say to a friend you’ve lost and been angry with for three years, but still listened and _liked_ your work? What could you say, when he was fidgeting and cowering beside the man he called a boyfriend, when you appreciated his shy words more than any other compliment in this world?

“But!” The panicked edge returned. Yamato was scowling again. The moment passed.

(Yamato wished it didn’t.)

“Don likes them more, though!” He waved his hands frantically. “He- whatever I know, he knows better! R-right, Don?”

“Absolutely, dear,” Shark-like was really the only way to describe the way Donovan bared his teeth. “But, really, I never knew you were so close with Ishida Yamato. We could have gotten his autograph sooner, had you told me.”

“Oh, I mean- we, um-” Taichi was visibly quaking in Donovan’s grasp, even as he continued to grin.

Yamato took pity. He cleared his throat. “I’m here now, aren’t I?” He motioned around, fan-favourite smirk slipping on with practised ease. “We’re technically neighbours as well.”

“Oh, you live here?”

(He pretended not to notice Taichi’s inaudible sigh of relief.)

“Just two floors down,” Yamato nodded amiably. “I’d be happy to show you both around, if you like.”

“Hmm,” Donovan hummed, idly tapping the base of his chin. “Some other time, maybe. Me and Taichi’ll just head back for now, if you don’t mind.”

“Absolutely, it’s getting late anyway,” Yamato took a step to the side. “Feel free to call if you need anything.” His eyes lingered on Taichi’s stooped figure momentarily.

Donovan smiled. He rapped Taichi’s head with his knuckles twice.

The next few words Donovan Tempest drawled next pretty much cemented any ill will Yamato harboured towards him.

“Now where are your manners, Taichi?”

Yamato wanted to protest, to yell that Taichi never understood the concept of manners before and that was fine, because that was just how he was and nobody ever minded him for it. Instead, he simply stood and stared as Taichi hurried out a mumbled ‘thank you’ and bowed to his waist, simply stood and stared as Taichi retreated with his entire frame locked tightly in his "boyfriend’s" arms.

He groaned.

This was just too fucking weird.

-

Later that night, after a thorough shower and full dinner on his own, he phoned Sora.

“Yamato!” Sora’s voice, angelic and calm, soothed his erratic nerves to no end. Not that he would ever admit it. “How are you?”

“I saw Taichi today.” No use cutting corners, right?

An impregnated pause. “What _.”_

“I know,” Yamato pinched the bridge of his nose, flopping head first into his trusty worn couch. “He moved into my apartment block apparently.”

“Tell him to call Hikari-chan! And his parents! They’re worried sick about him, and tell that impulsive idiot he better-”

“Sora,” Something in his tone must have gave away what he felt, because Sora silenced herself quickly. Or, more quickly than she usually would anyway. “He has a boyfriend.”

Another pause. This one was longer.

Yamato counted the seconds.

“WHAT _?”_

“Donovan Tempest, looks like a prince from those Disney movies, apparently his senior in university,” Yamato ran a hand through his damp hair, idly recalling the way Donovan ran a similar hand through Taichi’s. The thought itself was revolting enough. “He’s studying politics, did you know?”

“He _eloped_ with a boyfriend for _three_ years?”

“Sora.”

“ _What,_ Yamato?”

“I don’t think-” Yamato hesitated, unsure. “-it’s the good kind?”

Sora quietened again. He could practically hear her gears clicking.

“Not that I know anything about relationships or anything, but-” Yamato lifted his head from the cushions. “- you know Taichi’s track record, right?”

“Yes,” This time, when Sora spoke, it was in a slightly softer tone, and _god,_ did Yamato hate it when she did that. “But are you sure, Yamato? Or were you just looking for reasons to justify his behaviour?”

Yamato scoffed. “I’m the last one who would do that for the idiot.”

“That’s true,” Sora was smiling softly on the other end. “Tell me more?”

And he did. He told her of the encounter that evening, the way Taichi stuttered, the way Taichi said ‘please’ and ‘thank you’, the way Taichi fidgeted at any mention of his name, the way Taichi was so _not_ Taichi Yamato was afraid he recognized the wrong man to be his friend.

In the end, all Sora could tell him was to observe for a little longer, and to stay by Taichi’s side _._

“I’ll read more into this Donovan person, alright?” Sora promised. “For now, let’s just watch from afar? And if things really do go south, call me?”

Yamato let out an ‘ah’ of agreement, illogically exhausted after what was probably just a 15 minute conversation.

“See you soon?” And though Yamato knew that phrase to be superficial - because he was too busy with his super hit-band and Sora with her flourishing agricultural studies - he still replied, “Yeah, see you soon.”

The call went dead with one resounding click.


	2. No more time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Who did this,” His cold voice held no inflection. This was not a question; it was a demand.
> 
> “Oh, shut it, Yamato,” Taichi rubbed at his face, still avoiding Yamato’s eyes. “It’s not like you’ve never seen me with a couple bruises before, this is fine! Compared to what we’ve been through, this is nothing, right?”
> 
> “No, Taichi, this is not nothing,” Yamato snatched the hand thumbing against the wound mercilessly, knowing with a passion that Taichi was just making more pain accumulate there, as an unadulterated heat found its way to clasp on Taichi’s wrists. “You’re hurt.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heya folks, thanks for coming back! Also, thank you to all of you who liked, bookmarked and commented on my work, it really warms my heart to know that people actually read - and enjoy - this! 
> 
> Hope you like this one too!

_It’s best to forget the unnecessary things,_

_There’s no more time to be fooling around._

_-_

Dawn arrived with the momentous cacophony of pounding metal beats, heated roars in the name of rock and the sort of musical quality Yamato would generally find himself banging his head to at any given time of the day other than waking up. Head buried under pillows, he groaned. Eventually, he found in it himself to roll from couch to floor, legs folding into his chest as the phone dwindled off into silence. He felt his eyes droop lazily, just about ready to fall back asleep for only ten more minutes when the phone rang again, this time with a chirpy jingle Yamato responded to with a muffled sigh of elaborate vexation.

“Who is it?” He growled, semi-aware that he sounded like a hostile drunk but honestly not caring less. If whoever it was called him when he was barely awake, then hostile drunk Yamato was exactly what they were getting. 

“Good morning to you too, nii-chan.”

The morning gruffness subsided a little. Just a little

“What do you want from me at-” Yamato raised his head to the round clock on his wall. “six twenty-one in the morning?”

“You’re supposed to be awake at six, though,” Takeru, ever the cheeky cheek, chided cheekily. Yamato could picture him so clearly, with a finger tapping lightly on his chin as his eyes trailed skyward in a show of faux innocence. “Band practise at 7, no?”

Yamato was _not_ pouting. He was not. “That’s not your business.”

“You shouldn’t be late, nii-chan. Those hit songs won’t just write themselves, you know.”

“God, Takeru,” Yamato drew a hand over his cheeks, rising from the floor and stumbling over to the kitchen for a very much needed cup of coffee. “Just tell me what you want.”

“Nothing much,” He was laughing. The bastard was laughing at his demise. “Just wanted to give you a heads up, I’ll be visiting your place a month from now,” A pause, then as if sensing Yamato’s apparent confusion, he tagged on, “Golden week. Mom says it’d be nice for us to have some ‘brother’ time.”

“Shouldn’t you be studying, though?” He made his way round the coffee maker, holding the phone in place with his shoulder as he brewed the most cherished of blessings known to humankind. “Entrance exams this year, Takeru. Be like Jou, make use of all the free time you come across, bury yourself in books and don’t sleep till the sun comes back up.”

Yamato sauntered over to the couch, nursing his cup of bliss as he half-listened to Takeru whine about how he _wasn’t_ doctor-to-be Jou, how _tiring_ those tests were and how he _really_ had so little time left to spend with his _favourite_ big brother.

“I’m your only big brother.” Yamato frowned at the depressing leftover coffee grains.

“Eh, semantics.”

“Also,” Yamato frowned harder. He might need a second shot. “Why call now? You could have told me this, _literally_ , any other time.”

Takeru hummed coyly, “I just wanted to hear my brother’s voice first thing in the morning.”

“You just wanted to hear me in my semi-awake state, didn’t you.” Yamato had long since perfected the art of making his voice be as flat and dead as humanly possible.

“Hm, what did you say?” Oh, his cheeky bastard of a brother. “Didn’t hear you, sorry, gotta go, bye!”

“Take-”

Click. The call ended.

“Little shit.” He muttered under his breath, almost fond.

And then the events from the day before came hitting like a merciless truck. He groaned again, burying his head back under his pillows. _Yes,_ he decided vehemently. _I definitely need more coffee._

-

Yamato really hadn’t planned on meeting Taichi so soon after their first encounter. He could only take so much absurdity in two consecutive days after all, and he had things to do. Songs to write. Concerts to hold. Band mates to jam with. His world didn’t revolve solely around that upstart anymore, and he really wished to keep it that way.

Unfortunately, they who commanded the fates seemed to have thought the contrary, because right as he went catapulting towards the elevator, one hand shot out to hold the doors open for him as he mumbled a quick ‘Thanks’ to whoever was inside, lo and behold, there stood the scour of his life. The Houdini with the multi-year disappearing act. The man with the mousy hair slicked back - wait, what?

“Since when did you gel your hair?”

Taichi cocked an eyebrow. “Well, good morning to you too.”

Yamato huffed, hands shoving roughly into his pockets. If Taichi wanted to be a prick so early in the morning, then he wasn’t going to bother indulging him in conversation. Not after what he did.

He seemed to gain some sort of self-awareness within the span of the next few seconds, because he was running a hand at the back of his neck again as he explained, “I look better with my hair like this, right? Makes it look neater.”

Yamato stared at him. He couldn’t say seeing Taichi’s face without the messy locks sticking up in every possible didn’t have its own sort of appeal, but. He and the other DigiDestined had raised the issue with him before, more than once. Each time, Taichi grinned and said he didn’t care.

“Since when do you care about looking neat?”

Taichi shrugged. “Don likes it.”

Yamato’s face soured. But before he could say anything else, the elevator pinged to a stop, doors whooshing open as Taichi, once again, did a freaking bow and retreated with a wan smile.

_Yeah, there was definitely something wrong with his wayward friend._

Which was why, ten hours later, as the sun crept behind sky-high buildings, spreading the dying rays of its red wings as far as it could reach, Yamato found himself resignedly knocking on Taichi’s door. A box of biscuits nearing expiration hung from his arm in a plastic bag, only because Sora had told him that it was rude to arrive at someone’s place empty handed. Or well, Mimi had, Sora simply reinforced the notion.

The door opened with a hesitant creak. Taichi’s surprised brown eyes met his azure ones.

“Yamato? Do you need anything?”

“Just some company,” Yamato feigned indifference, waving his box of biscuits as some sort of peace offering. “And these biscuits are gonna’ expire soon. So.”

Taichi tilted his head questioningly. “Thought you were mad at me?”

“I am,” He watched Taichi tug at the tips of his long sleeves. “But you’re here now.”

The ‘ _There’s no point staying mad at you for being gone when you’re right in front of me and clearly hurting_ ’ and the even more intimate ‘ _I would rather die than lose more time with you_ ’ went deliberately unspoken, but Yamato figured Taichi got the idea, if the slumping of his shoulders were any indication.

Taichi ushered him in after a brief pause, guiding him away from the mass of boxes littered over the floors. His apartment was slightly more spacious than Yamato’s, given that it had more than a single room, a bathroom and a kitchen. A chair was pulled out as Taichi gestured for him to sit in front of a wooden table, while he himself puttered off to the kitchen.

“Coffee for you, I’m guessing?” The tease was responded with a lazy smirk.

(He tried to smother down the treacherous butterflies cheering exuberantly in his stomach at the fact that Taichi _remembered._ )

“Where’s Donovan?” Yamato unpacked the biscuits, eyes subtly wandering to gauge Taichi's reaction.

“Um, he has soccer practise and a group study till midnight, I think,” Taichi answered, seemingly unbothered by the fact that there were a dozen boxes yet to be unpacked and only one chair, one table, one single-seater couch and one television set out in the open. He placed the coffee by Yamato’s side, in a delicate tea cup and saucer and everything.

There was none for himself.

“You not drinking anything?” Yamato picked out a chocolate cream cookie from the box, passing it to Taichi who leaned almost tiredly against the kitchen counter.

“Hm, nah,” Taichi flapped his hand up and down, not yet taking the biscuit. “You’re the guest, after all.”

At first, he thought it was some poor attempt at a joke, but then he looked at Taichi and realised that the idiot was serious. He seriously thought that he wasn’t supposed to drink anything because Yamato was a ‘guest’.

He shoved that thought to the back burner of his mind. “You just don’t like coffee.”

“Don likes it.”

He knew he should have let that slide. He just couldn’t help himself.

“Is there anything you do that he _doesn’t_ like?”

Taichi stiffened. “Of course not. I’m his boyfriend.”

“And is he yours?” Yamato pretended to be busy with his coffee, one arm still casually outstretched with the biscuit Taichi failed to retrieve.

“Isn’t that just the same thing?” Taichi laughed, all humour and game, but no one was fooled. The way his arms tucked into themselves, the way his eyes skidded to the floor, the way he was gripping on his sleeves - that was already an answer in itself.

Yamato sighed. “Just take the goddamn biscuit, Taichi.”

“Y-yeah, sorry,” He chuckled again, quickly swiping said biscuit from Yamato’s fingers, biting into them without a fight. “Should have done that earlier, huh.”

(And that, more than anything else, was the most jarring in Yamato’s mind.

Because Taichi never went down without a fight, especially not when it came to Yamato. He spoke till he got his point across, glared till Yamato yielded or they came to some sort of compromise. He was never afraid to make a scene, to rise in whatever conflict just to show that _he_ was in the right.

He had put up some semblance of a fight this time, but how much longer would it be before Taichi simply rolled over and followed the will of just about anyone?)

Yamato knitted his brows, but said nothing.

-

The following evening, when Yamato once again came knocking on Taichi’s door, Taichi emerged with a bulging bruise colouring the right side of his face a flaring scarlet and Yamato felt something in his heart screech to a stop.

“Who.” was all he managed to spit out in a haze of red.

Taichi had the audacity to actually look confused for a moment, before his eyes sprang wide, fingers swiftly rising to brush against his swollen cheeks. He bounced on his heels, angling his head away so Yamato saw less of the bruising, as he gestured behind him. “It’s kind of a mess in here ‘coz I’m unpacking stuff so-”

“Who did this,” His cold voice held no inflection. This was not a question; it was a demand.

“Oh, shut it, Yamato,” Taichi rubbed at his face, still avoiding Yamato’s eyes. “It’s not like you’ve never seen me with a couple bruises before, this is fine! Compared to what we’ve been through, this is nothing, right?”

“No _,_ Taichi, this is _not_ nothing,” Yamato snatched the hand thumbing against the wound mercilessly, knowing with a passion that Taichi was just making more pain accumulate there, as an unadulterated heat found its way to clasp on Taichi’s wrists. “You’re hurt.”

(He didn’t miss the flinch Taichi gave - either from the words, or the iron-grip, Yamato didn’t know.)

“I just- I fell down some stairs, okay?”

“We have an elevator.”

“At uni,” Hard brown eyes stared stubbornly at the floor, a sort of defiance in the way they did so. “Fell down some stairs, knocked my head on one, and ended up with a sore face, had a laugh about it with my classmates -there, I said it, are you happy?”

Yamato was far from happy. How could he be, when he saw his friend so obviously lie about something so trivial compared to all the other things they’ve discussed in the past? There were things a simple three years of separation could never erase. Three years of separation couldn’t erase the months they spent fighting for their lives in unknown realms, couldn’t erase the years they spent in school, in football, in band practices. Three years of separation couldn’t erase a world of courage and friendship, nor the tell-tale signs Yamato had long since recognised to be distress signals in his leader, his Jogress partner-in-arms, his fucking _friend_ for over an eternity.

“Look, Yamato, I’m fine, alright?” His voice weakened significantly, the tiniest of trembles lining the edges. “Let’s just- I’m sorry for snapping at you like that, I shouldn’t have done that. A-and sorry for leaving all of you without a word. I’m sorry, okay?”

Yamato gritted his teeth. “That’s not what I’m talking about right now.”

“You’re pissed about it,” Taichi shuffled from one foot to the other, gnawing his lower lip fervently. “You’re still pissed about it.”

“A lot of people are,” He snapped, tone harsh. “So whatever rebellious, masochistic phase you’re going through, I suggest you get through it fast because-”

“M-masochistic? I’m not- Yamato! It’s not like that!”

Yamato gave him a look.

Taichi deflated. Good.

“I-I like Donovan, alright?” He finally, finally brought his broken brown eyes level to Yamato’s.

That was. That was as much of an admission Yamato was ever going to get out of this.

“Can we just- is it okay if we just leave it at that? P-please?”

Yamato screwed his eyes shut.

God, he really couldn’t handle Taichi like this. He would have rather they made a scene, with him pulling out his fists to knock some sense into his friend’s stupid face, (Ironic, considering the reason for this whole ordeal, but Yamato prided himself in being contradictory.) and solved the issue with preferably, a clean breakup and Taichi safely back in the Yagami household with no more complicated abusive relationships in his life. Yamato would have solved this in an instant if he could, with the Taichi he knew.

But this Taichi. This Taichi who didn’t do anything to pull his wrists from Yamato’s grasp, who looked at him with pleading in his eyes, whose voice cracked at the end of what could only be described as begging - Yamato had no idea how to deal with this.

He let go instead.

“I don’t like him.” He had to say that, at least.

To be honest, Yamato wanted to say so much more than that. He wanted to tell Taichi that he was being taken advantage of, that there were better people waiting for him at home. He wanted to ask Taichi if Tempest liked him back, or was Taichi just using his infatuation as an excuse for Tempest? He wanted to ask Taichi if he liked the way he was now, not because Tempest wanted him to like it, but because he wanted to like it.

“Well,” Taichi smiled lightly, twisting his newly freed wrist this way and that. “Good thing you’re not the one dating him, then.”

Yamato scowled, but followed Taichi into the apartment nonetheless.

(He was his friend, after all.)

“I’m still unpacking stuff, but if you need a drink, I could-”

“You’re doing this alone?” Yamato kicked at the multiple cardboard boxes blocking one half of the doorway, closing the door behind him with a less than hidden frown.

“Don’s having a group study.” Rasp hardened, defensive.

“Figures,” Yamato answered, though without heat, as he picked a pair of scissors that was - dangerously - on the ground, crouching wordlessly to flatten the boxes in speedy succession. After patting them down in a way that efficiently took up less space, he proceeded to stack them over one another, a methodical approach to the problem one that Yamato was grateful for.

“Um,” Taichi cleared his throat awkwardly. “What are you doing?”

“Helping you.”

A huff. “You don’t have to.”

“Two pairs of hands makes things move along quicker, and all that jazz,” Yamato shouldered past Taichi to deposit his work at a far corner of the room. “Teamwork, right?”

“R-right, o-of course,” Taichi stammered, and then, a beat later, in the most tentative tone Yamato had ever heard, he asked, “So you don’t need a drink?”

Yamato whirled around, giving those irritatingly soft brown eyes the deadest of his cold blue stares.

“No, Taichi,” He spoke slowly, in case of being misunderstood by this dimwit version of Taichi. Then again, Taichi was always a dimwit. At least that didn’t change. “I do not, need a drink.”

Surprisingly, Taichi scowled. “You think I’m an idiot.”

Yamato moved over to make quick work of the amazing quanitity of boxed and canned food strewn haphazardly over the kitchen counter. “You’re always an idiot. That’s not a change.”

Blissfully, he watched Taichi throw his hands up in the air, muttering something along the lines of, “Suit yourself, you piece of shit,” as he stalked off to straighten out the massive array of furniture, clothing and ornaments alike scattered round the room, all the while rambling about how much of a stuck up prick Yamato was.

Yamato smirked.

_So maybe, maybe there was still a little time after all._

They could only hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A small disclaimer: Yamato's actions, I've read, should definitely not be replicated in real life. His active confronting, as shown above, even though it comes from a good place in his heart, actually pushes Taichi back and away. So, uh, if you're ever in a situation like Yamato, don't be like him. Heh.
> 
> But, don't worry!! He'll be changing his approach soon ;)
> 
> Anyways, thank you for reading, and feel free to leave your thoughts down below!

**Author's Note:**

> The song references are:
> 
> Butter-Fly by Koji Wada (The opening theme for Digimon Adventure 1999) - this song will be used throughout the fic because, seriously. This Song Is A Legend.  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S4L399kgd1I
> 
> Which by 'Knife of Day' (Hosoya Yoshimasa)  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=phs3Aw2OfrE
> 
> The links are for if you're interested in listening to these jams! Thank you for reading, do leave your thoughts below!


End file.
